


One Thing After Another

by espark



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassin's Creed: Origins, Gen, If it can go wrong...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espark/pseuds/espark
Summary: Have you ever sat down to play Assassin's Creed and nothing in the game seems to go your way?Bayek feels your pain and keeps on fighting.





	One Thing After Another

Running from the villa, his breath coming fast, blood running into his eyes, Bayek was lucky to have escaped with nothing broken.

When the three Roman soldiers had cornered him, he had whirled and ducked. But then the big centurion had smacked him to the ground. Pain had bit into his skull and Bayek had tasted the hard packed earth. He had rolled to his feet just in time, blood flowing freely from his forehead. He had heard hoofbeats approaching and shouts on the road. Reinforcements were coming! A bad situation was about to get worse. 

Experience had told him it it would be better to flee and return later, but his heart had hated to leave. He spat out dirt and blood as he fled, but he could not get rid of the bitter taste of retreat.

He had been after Felonius, the leader of the local Roman legion. Unable to reach the rocky outcropping above the main garrison, he had settled for sneaking past the guards at dusk. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the roving patrols. If only he could have found a way to climb up the cliff and then dropped down onto the roof. But there was nothing. He hadn’t be able to find any purchase along the smooth walls or any path up the sandstone cliffs, not one depression to use as a hand hold or crack to wedge a boot. He’d be forced to take risks and it has cost him.

From the amount of blood he was wiping off his face, he realized had retreated just in time. Next time, he would be more cautious. Next time, he would find a secure way into the villa. Next time, it would be Roman blood that he wiped away.

Bayek made for the nearby village, darkness spreading down the mountains. He heard the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil, promising a blacksmith still at work, and not far ahead. Bayek ran his hand over his sword pommel and felt a new crack running through the grip. He had neglected his gear too long. With better weapons and a better plan, he could take Felonious, and his troops, down.

He followed the sounds of the blacksmith along the twisting road. The village may have been small, but it was busy, even at this hour. He wasn’t even sure what the place was called, but it had the same low mud-brick houses, narrow dirt alleys and pungent smells as every other Egyptian town. An old woman carrying a large earthenware jug on her hip came around a corner and nearly crashed into him. He jumped aside and then danced around a thin man leading an oxcart with filled with hay. Then, two squealing children ran around him, chasing after each other in circles. 

Bayek smiled. He couldn’t help it; he always had a soft spot for children. When one bumped into him, he laughed, feeling the anger drain out of him.

“Watch out, little ones,” he said fondly.

The child muttered, “Sorry,” and the two playmates ran off, giggling.

At the blacksmith, Bayek handed over his sword.

Setting his hammer down, the smith glanced up and name his price, a fair one.

While he was here, Bayek decided he would have the man fix all his gear. He could afford it. The sunken ship he’d found yesterday had been worth the cold swim out to the middle of the delta. 

He reached down for his coin purse. He found the spot on his belt empty. 

Gods! What a fool he’d been! He realized those giggling children must have picked his pocket when they crashed into him. Anger welled up, but he tamped it down. Even if they were wretched little thieves, they were still children.

He called for Senu. She would locate those devious, adorable, whelps. 

But, aggravatingly, Senu wasn’t there when he called. By Horus’s Beak, what was that bird doing? Hunting a tasty serpent? Seducing a handsome raptor? Every now and then this happened. It was frustrating, but all he could do was wait until the eagle decided to return to him.

Undaunted, Bayek told himself that he could find the little thieves on his own. He retraced his steps to the dusty corner where the children had ambushed him. He calmed his mind, focused, and scanned the area for possible clues. 

Nothing. He saw nothing out of the ordinary - no scraps of cloth, no drops of blood, no suspicious tracks in the dirt road. There were just local people milling about shopping, chatting, and going about their business. 

Would nothing go right today? First, the fiasco at the villa, then the theft in the road, next Senu frolicking on her own, now, at the scene of the crime, there were no clues! Unbelievable! The gods must be playing a joke on him. 

He took a deep breath and concentrated. He sent up a prayer to Amun to guide him. He was not going to let those scrawny, little brats get the best of him. 

Then, an idea struck him. They were no brats. Those children were in need. No boy or girl that was well taken care of would resort to picking pockets. No, there had to be a good reason they were stealing from strangers. He would find them and he would help them and they would never need to steal again.

His purpose renewed, Bayek looked in the the direction the children had come from. He saw a closed brewery.

Following his suspicions, Bayek carefully walked to the back of the building and hopped in through a window. Crouching low, he looked around. The earthy smells of yeast and fermented grains made him suddenly hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down to a decent meal and a dark mug of beer. He pushed the thought aside and focused on his surroundings.

In the brewery there were no children, no one at all. Other than the sacks of grain and barrels of beer, the place seemed empty. Then he heard a cough from the back. 

He drew his sword and inched forward.

Creeping carefully towards the sound, Bayek found a middle-aged woman, alone, and coughing on a pallet in the back. Someone in trouble. 

Putting aside his weapon and his quest to find the pickpockets, he asked, “Hello. What troubles you, mother? Can I bring you to a healer?”

“No medicine can help me,” she answered and coughed again, the force of it wracking her whole body. “Felonius has placed a curse on me for refusing to brew the pale Roman ale he prefers. I have heard how he mistreats other merchants, promising bountiful rewards for special services and then denying proper payment when the bill is due. So I told him, ‘No,’ and he cursed me to the edge of a breath. Now I cannot work and my family goes hungry.”

“I am Bayek of Siwa, a Medjay,” he said, “and I will put a stop to Felonius and his tyranny. When I return, I will also help get you to a healer.” He could guess that it was her children, desperate and hungry, who had stolen his purse. He needed to find them so he could repair his weapons and kill Felonius.

Almost without thinking, Baked called for Senu again and this time the bird answered. But instead of indicating his new quarry, the children, Senu kept marking Felonius, deep inside his villa, as the target. No matter how many times Bayek tried to switch her focus, the bird seemed to be stuck on the Roman officer and his villa. Why wasn’t she following his commands? Fortunately, her scan of the area did turn up one promising find -- a secret entrance behind the brewery, one that Bayek suspected the children of using as a hideout.

Bayek went outside and found the crack in the shadow of the sandstone cliff. It was certainly large enough for a child to slip through, but barely wide enough for an adult. Bayek thought he could make it - he had managed to fit through such narrow passages before - but realized that his poleaxe, bow and shield wouldn’t make it. He took off the bulky gear and left it, half hidden behind a shrub. Turning back to the secret entrance, Bayek let out a breath, turned sideways, and shimmied through the crack in the rock. 

Time seemed to slow as he squeezed into the tight space. The darkness of the cave reached out to swallow him. He gripped the cool sandstone, slowly pulling himself in. The passage narrowed at his chest and he felt the rock press in on him. Then, he was stuck. He yanked hard, forcing his way through, but he heard a horrible ripping sound from his back. Stepping free into the low cave, his breastplate clattered to the floor, the same time as his scabbard dropped to his ankles. The clang of metal on rock made him cringe. 

“Ra’s Blazing Balls!” he swore. Bayek listened for a moment, trying to see if his blundering entrance had alerted anything deeper in the cave, but only stillness awaited. 

It was bad enough to leave his other weapons behind. Now without his scabbard, he would have to choose between carrying his sword or the torch. One hand had to be kept free for the hidden blade.

He weighed his options, considered turning around, but then lit the torch and moved deeper into the cave. He left his broken things behind and crept forward through the sandstone passageway. The temperature dropped as he moved further in. A few moments later, Bayek knew he’d made the right choice when he heard the faint voice of children ahead. When he saw a light ahead, he doused his torch to avoid attention and crept closer.

Four children, dressed alike in tattered tunics and close cropped dark hair, sat around a small campfire.

“Have you ever seen so much money in your whole life?” the biggest one asked, holding out his coin purse.

“Let me see, Nebti!” whined another.

“Can we use a little to by some honey cakes? I’m starving,” said the smallest.

“It’s not for honey cakes, stinker. It’s to hire someone to get rid of Felonious,” said Nebti, apparently the leader.

Bayek stepped out of the shadows. “If you had not taken that money, someone may have already gotten rid of Felonius.”

Bayek had hoped his arrival would startle the children into surrender, but his plan worked a little too well. They stared at him, open mouthed, then bolted. Each of the four ran off in a different direction. 

Bayek breathed, “Amun, give me strength.” Then he ran off, chasing after Nebti and his money.

He found the girl in a chamber, standing on the feline head of a large obsidian statue of Bastet. A nest of vipers surrounded the base of the statue. Why were there always snakes in these places?

Bayek looked around. The room must have been an abandoned shrine. Thick cobwebs clung to the corners of the room and dust covered everything. A small opening in the ceiling let in some natural light. Bayek scoured the area for something to kill the snakes. He sorted through a shelf of scrolls, opened baskets and peered into jars. He found ancient poems praising the goddess, a rotting rat carcass, several rolled up prayer mats, and jars of rancid olive oil - all useless.

Bayek turned back to the defiant girl, “I am Bayek of Siwa, a Medjay, a protector. Jump to me. I will catch you.” He held out his arms and beckoned.

“No! Leave me alone.” 

Bayek made his tone understanding, “I know you are scared, girl, but I will not hurt you. You cannot say the same of the snakes.” Then he added firmly, “Come. You can’t stay up there forever.”

As if heeding Bayek’s words, the stone under the child’s feet cracked and half of the goddess’s face fell off. The child wobbled, her feet losing purchase. Nebti let out a frightened shout, slipped and clutched at the statue’s neck. Bayek saw she couldn’t hold on for long.

He had to act, and quickly. Yet the snakes prevented him from getting close enough to catch the infuriating child and he had nothing with him to kill the vipers. Frustrated, Bayek kicked at a cluster of jars next to him, shattering the pottery and spilling olive oil all over the floor.

An idea seized him. Bayek grabbed a scroll, raced back to the room where the children had been sitting and held the papyrus out to catch fire. Then, he rushed back to the shrine and dropped the burning scroll onto the ground. The floor and everything on it, prayer carpets, olive oil and snakes, all caught fire. As soon as the last snake was still, Bayek threw down a thick carpet, smothering a patch of flame, enough for him make it to the statue.

He climbed up to what remained of the statue’s head, perched just above the child and reached down to pull the dangling girl to safety. 

She clung to Bayek and he soothed, “It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s alright. Now, let us climb down."

The child lower her head and whined, “Please, sir. I was only trying to help my mother. She is ill, from a curse, and hasn’t been able to work.”

The child took Bayek’s hand and, together, they climbed down from the statue.

“Nebti, your mother is the brewer? The one with the horrible cough?” Bayek asked when they were safely on the ground.

“Yes. And you, you are really a Medjay? You can kill Felonius?” she asked.

Bayek knelt down to look the child in the eye, “I will kill Felonius and you will return my money.”

The child nodded, handed over his purse and pointed to the crack in the ceiling. “Wait. You can reach the back of the villa through there, Medjay. That is a secret way.”

“Amun bless you, child,” Bayek said. For the first time all day, he felt the gods were on his side. He pulled himself up to a ledge and then climbed up to the opening in the ceiling. 

It led to the outcropping of rocks that lay directly above the villa’s main house. Silent as the rising moon, Bayek jumped to the villa roof then dropped inside through a window. Felonius was setting at a desk, exactly where Senu had indicated. He realized now that the eagle had been showing him the children too; they had been right underneath the Roman the whole time. 

Bayek may have dropped his poleaxe, bow and shield outside the cave, he may have left his sword and torch inside the shrine, but he still had one weapon left, and it was his most deadly. 

He flicked his finger and felt the iron slide up from his wrist, as smooth as Aya’s tongue. He soundlessly jabbed the blade into the man’s throat and watched the Roman topple over. As always, Bayek searched the inlaid chests and pocketed a large carbon crystal. Then, crouching low, Bayek swiftly took care of the two sentries standing guard. Last, he scaled the wall, finally satisfied. By the time the dead were discovered, he would be long gone. 

He dropped down outside the villa and headed back to the entrance to the cave, to the place he had hidden his gear, but his weapons were gone. Gods, he was ready for this day to be done. 

He jogged to the brewery to find the woman, now sitting up and taking a sip from a steaming bowl. He heard muffled giggling from behind a stack of barrels.

The brewer looked up at him, “My daughters told me what you did. Gratitude, Medjay. I can already feel the curse lifting.” She turned to the grubby children peeking out from the shadows. “Children? What do you have to say?”

Nebti came forward, her eyes on her feet. The other three followed, carrying his weapons, breastplate and shield. 

Together they intoned, “Gratitude, Medjay,” and held out his gear.

The woman smiled and said, “It looks like some of your belongings are damaged. I know a good blacksmith who could repair them for you, even improve them.”

Bayek laughed, “I would like that. You can introduce me to the blacksmith on the way to the healer.”

He scooped the brewer up into his arms and said to the children, “Come, little scoundrels. You can bring my things to the smith.”

He sent a silent prayer to Amun and all the gods that once his equipment was properly repaired, he would never again have a day as broken as this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from  Writing Excuses 13.6, “Break Things” – start the character’s story, and then have things begin going wrong. Don’t fix any of it. Just keep making things worse.


End file.
